


Vietnam Whiskey

by Uskius



Category: Brave Wilderness - Fandom
Genre: Brave Wilderness - Freeform, Explicit Language, Gen, sting index
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uskius/pseuds/Uskius
Summary: On this episode of Brave Wilderness, Coyote Peterson goes on an adventure across the world to get up close and personal with a recently discovered species.





	Vietnam Whiskey

Close-up, buzzing. A single heavy, echoing drumbeat.

“We weren’t even sure this existed until about five months ago.” Drumbeat.

“I’m calm. I’m ready.” Beat.

Screaming, primal and horrified; dissonant slide up on the strings. “Medics! MEDICS!” Beat. Blackout. Quiet shot of the back of a beat up van as it rumbles along a forest dirt road.

“Hello! And welcome to Brave Wilderness, I’m Coyote Peterson. Today we have a very special trip all the way around the world to Vietnam, where we’re hoping to find what the locals refer to as a ‘goddess bearer’, ‘swamp demon’, or a ‘whiskey maker’. Let’s get on the trail.” Coyote smiles and motions for the camera to follow, and he steps into an old and dirty van.

The shot changes to a map, showing the flight path with a lengthening red arrow as Coyote narrates. “Summers in Vietnam are hot, humid, and wet, which is not the kind of weather you typically associate with bees. But these aren’t your typical bees: they come from the carpenter bee family, and make their nests by burrowing into trees, where they’ll be safe from most of the rain. And while they aren’t known for their honey in Vietnam…”

The camera finds Coyote at his base camp, talking with a local through a translator. The old man smiles, gesturing happily as he speaks, “It was a rite of passage in my village: to become a man, you had to work on the bee farm, and not get stung. All the white men and foreigners get so scared of them because of the size, but they’re gentle, really.”

“And how big are they?” Asks Coyote, briefly glancing at the translator.

“Three, maybe four or five centimeters,” The local says, holding out his hand. “About the length of a knuckle. The males are a little smaller, and they’re the mean ones that will come after you in the wild if you surprise their nest, but their bites aren’t so bad. You wouldn’t need medicine.”

Nodding, Coyote asks, “Tell us a little bit more about the farm and what it’s like.”

“It’s the most beautiful place in the world,” The man beams proudly. “We have a few flower gardens throughout it to attract the bees in case they wandered off, and the trees are good and sturdy ones spaced evenly. The big creek ran through it in the North-Eastern corner, and you got to be the big cool kid for a day if you snuck off and played in it without getting caught.”

“What did the farm use the bees for?”

“For the whiskey! We would make it with sugar cane brought in from the rich countryside. The bees would give us a little of their venom, and we would use just a couple drops of it for many, many batches- but the whiskey from the barrel it was in first was always best.”

“Have you ever been stung?”

“No, no. I’m one of the lucky ones. I always did things right, with the smoke and nets. I’ve been bitten by the males when we had to find new nests in the wild, but that wasn’t so bad- just clean it off and put a bandage on it.”

Now trekking through dense underbrush, Coyote narrates, “The presence of bees in South-East Asia is well documented, and goes back many centuries. But one of the beautiful things about nature is that we’re still discovering new species. The rumors of the Xylocopa Umoris- the scientific name for this new bee- first started appearing during the later years of the Vietnam War, but weren’t fully investigated by scientists until well after the war was over. The climate and other insects in the area ruined and took up most research trips, but five months ago during this year, the whiskey-maker was confirmed to be its own unique species.”

The local guide taps Coyote on the shoulder, speaking quietly and urgently and pointing to a nearby tree. It takes a moment for Coyote to spot it, but he finds the hole. “Right there! Now, you might be expecting a hive when you think of a bee, but something that most carpenter bees have in common is they’ll chew and burrow into trees and logs to make their nests- and on top of that, they’re mostly solitary, with the females raising the young, and the males foraging.” Coyote takes up the net, and the guide stalks up with the smoker. The young man lifts it up and blows a few quick puffs into the hole. Nothing happens for a second, then there’s a buzz, and the guide squelches back through the deep mud as fast as he can. As he does so the whiskey-makers fly out. 

Eyeing his mark carefully, Coyote swings the net and catches a big one. “Got it! Now, th-” Before he can finish the sentence he’s divebombed by a bee, flinching and swatting it away. “As I was saying, here in the net is a female. The males- like the one that said hello just a second ago- are slick and an iridescent black, while the females-” Here, the camera zooms in, getting a closer view into the net. “-Have a little greenish-red fuzz. And that is a BIG bee. Definitely an inch long, at least. But it’s gorgeous. Now, let’s get this out of the swamp and back to base camp.” Coyote says, nodding towards camp’s direction.

After a quick blackout, the scene fades in on base camp at the edge of the jungle. “We weren’t even sure this existed until about five months ago,” Says Coyote, kneeling down behind the close-up of the whiskey-maker inside the glass dome. “And with the global bee population declining, it’s important to recognize and highlight the work that these and other bees do. Besides being used in regional liquor production, this bee helps pollinate some of the most beautiful flowers and plants in the entire world- some of which are rare themselves, and might not be around today if it wasn’t for the work that the umoris does.”

“And I know what you’re thinking,” Coyote continues with a wry grin. “Is he going to…? Yes, but not for the sting index, as I’m not out looking for the most painful anymore. I’m leaving that quest to someone else. This is a reminder that while these bees are beautiful and important, they’re still wild and deserve respect- and you saw how aggressive that male was in the swamp.” A low and suspenseful music starts up in the background as the camera focuses on Coyote picking up the forceps and carefully lifting up the dome. “In previous centuries the umoris was sometimes called the goddess bearer or swamp demon because of the unique formula of peptides in its venom, which, according to legend, causes hallucinations due to the pain. Now, one more important thing to note,” Coyote says, slowly inching towards the whiskey-maker with the forceps, “Is that their stingers are not barbed, so there is the possibility of multiple stings. There! Got her.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Coyote takes a deep breath to get centered. “I’m calm. I’m ready. I do have an epipen and venom extractor on hand, as well as paramedics standing by. I’m Coyote Peterson, and I’m about to enter the sting zone.” The camera focuses on the whiskey-maker as Coyote brings it to his left forearm. It buzzes, flapping its wings. The music intensifies as the bee gets agitated, but it doesn’t sting. “When I was researching this, I couldn’t find any official reports of stings, but the locals have told me of people who were stung and never the same again, so I am expecting quite a-” At that moment the bee strikes with a deep sting. “Oh! OH!” Quickly Coyote drops the bee onto the folding table, covering it up with the glass dome. “That is an immediate shock. Oh man, oh man.” Screaming, he drops to his knees, knocking off his hat and running his hand over his scalp. He gives a couple deep and pained grunts before a long and drawn out scream as he falls onto his side.

“How does it feel, Coyote?”

“This is bad. This is so bad. AH!” Breathing heavily for a moment, Coyote can barely get out, “The brute force is unbelievable, like an explosion away from the sting site.” Through his screams, he continues. “It’s sharp, and intense- I can feel myself starting to sweat again.” As Coyote starts to writhe in pain, the camera zooms in on his forearm, which is red and already starting to swell noticeably around the sting.

“It’s starting to balloon real quick, too,” Mark points out.

Coyote cracks open his eyes to check, and nods. “Tourniquet and extractor! GAH!” Mario and the guide hurry over with the supplies, quickly and efficiently applying them.

“Extractor up in three, two, one…” Mario activates the pump, and Coyote’s eyes fly open wide, his screams primal and horrified. Zooming up close, a small droplet of venom is visible, as is some blood coming out of the wound. Coyote’s muscles begin to tense up from the severe pain, and he takes a deep, ragged breath.

“This… is a four, easy. Rank it later.” Coyote blinks, looking over Mario’s shoulder. “You’re dead!”

“Coyote? Coyote! Are you alright?” Asks Mark, beginning to get seriously worried. The stings were always hard to watch in person, but something here didn’t seem right.

“雌犬であるのをやめなさい、コヨーテ。 あなたはやるべき仕事を持っています。” Steve Irwin said, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I’ve never felt anything like this! It’s not that easy!” Coyote replied. The hairs on the back of Mario’s neck stood up, and he looked over to Mark.

“ブル。 たわごと、仲間。 一緒に入手してください。まだあなたの時間ではありません。 勇敢になり、そして野性的になりなさい。” Steve said passionately, clenching his fist.

“It’s… I don’t know…” Coyote squeezed out, his eyes tearing up.

“生きることを恐れてはいけない、コヨーテ！ あなたは、克服するために作られました！” Steve roared in encouragement. Coyote nodded, even though the pain was rapidly wearing him out. “常に！ 信じて！”

“Always… believe…” Repeated Coyote, his eyelids fluttering. The guide looked up to Mario, forgetting to speak in English as he pointed towards the van. Mario understood, though, seeing the state Coyote was in.

“Medics! MEDICS!” 

After a quick cut to black, the camera fades in on the old van riding along the dirt road, and Coyote begins to narrate. “I remember being carried towards the van before losing consciousness. While I had been prepared for pain, this was on a level far beyond what I’d thought was going to happen. It wasn’t the raw annihilation of the executioner wasp, but this hit me in a way like nothing else- the hallucinations the local tall tales talked about, I had that. It was intense. Like with most bee stings, it was sensitive to the touch days afterwards, and my forearm was swollen for the rest of the day.” 

Now at a hotel balcony, Coyote looked into the camera. “But there’s a lot of good that came from that encounter with the whiskey-maker. We now have the first documented footage of a sting, as well as more venom samples to study. And as to where I’d rank it on the sting index, I think as far as pain goes, the executioner wasp is still the king of sting- but the umoris, I think, I’m comfortable calling the queen. I’m Coyote Peterson,” He says, raising a glass of the local whiskey from the bee farm. “And until the next adventure: be brave, stay wild, and drink responsibly. Cheers.”


End file.
